


The Statistical Probability of Love

by thatsdrspencerreidtoyou



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Moreid if you look very hard, NOT a Spencer x Reader fic, Smart!Reader, Spending Christmas alone, college!reader, eventual sibling relationship, reader is basically a younger version of Spencer, tutor!Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsdrspencerreidtoyou/pseuds/thatsdrspencerreidtoyou
Summary: When Dr Spencer Reid gives a lecture at the state university about criminal sociology, he meets a 17 year-old freshman with an intelligence level that near enough matches his own. Deciding to take her under his wing, he finds both peace, friendship, and a bond that he thought he may never receive.*NOTE - this is NOT a Spencer x Reader fic
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	The Statistical Probability of Love

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi! This is my very first Criminal Minds fanfic, and I sincerely hope that you enjoy it! Please note that this is not a romantic relationship between Spencer and Reader, and will not culminate in a romantic relationship, but a relationship between friends and siblings.

It was an overcast day in the middle of December as you set up your books on the large wooden table. As per usual, you had deliberately picked a corner of the library that was almost empty, preferring to work with as few distractions as possible. You rooted about in your satchel, hoisting up your laptop and numerous textbooks onto the table and spreading them around you.

It was a Saturday, the clock nearing four in the afternoon. Being well into winter, dusk was quickly turning to a clear, cloudless night outside, the windows around you steamed up with condensation. The weather outside had been bitterly cold. You wrapped your frozen fingers around your coffee, shivering as you unwound your scarf from your neck and pulled off your gloves and hat.

You were awaiting the arrival of one Dr Spencer Reid – known to you as your sociology and criminology tutor. Already a freshman in college at the age of 17, you had been fascinated when the FBI profiler had given a talk in your university about the way that sociology and biology combined to make the notorious criminals that you studied. After the talk was over, you had rushed after the doctor, asking so many questions that, when enquired about your age, he gave you an offer that you simply could not refuse; thus, you became his protégé.

Unbeknownst to you, the FBI profiler saw a lot – almost too much – of his younger self in you. The way that your eyes lit up when in lectures and seminars, the enthusiasm and pure love that you poured into your work, the quiet, empty sadness behind your eyes; it was uncanny. Take away the eidetic memory and the two of you were practically twins.

Also unknown to you, the doctor had recruited one Penelope Garcia to take a peep into your background. The disabled mother, social isolation, high intelligence – he had seen it all before, almost every sad, depressing detail. Something about your preserved innocence, youthful optimism and sheer naivety made him oddly protective over you, and he showed that protectiveness and, well, love, the only way he really knew how – through knowledge.

The arrangement had been going on for approximately two and a half months by now, and he was increasingly amazed in the way that you absorbed and utilised everything that he gave you.

As time went on, you had begun to open up to the profiler about the more personal aspects of your life, unrelated to your college work. He knew about the loneliness, bullying and isolation that you had endured as a child and as a teen. He sympathised as you talked about how you struggled with friendships and relationships, and empathised as you opened up about the uphill battle against depression and suicidal ideation. He understood as you revealed your insecurities regarding relationships and romance, and comforted you as you worried about your future.

The two of you debated about the best classical composers (“You’re simply wrong, it’s Beethoven-" “I refuse; both Mozart and Dvorak are _so much better-"_ “ _Dvorak wrote in the romantic period, not the classical, you **heathen** -"_), argued about the best coffee shop in town, and generally found a peace and bond that was unique and individual to the two of you.

The team back at the BAU marvelled at the way in which Spencer took you under his wing. By now, you had met Garcia (“Oh, he goes on about you all the time!”) and Hotch (“We’ve heard a lot of about you, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”), and they could both see the special bond that the two of you shared. Your sessions often included long-winded conversations about the cases that the FBI profiler had assisted on, each and every grisly detail met with rapt attention from you.

\---

Back in the present day, you had just wrapped your fingers around a steaming mocha latte after typing in the password to your battered old laptop when Spencer arrived, unceremoniously dumping his satchel on the table opposite you. The bag made a loud _thump_ , undoubtedly filled with books until the seams were about to fall apart. Head still bent over your laptop, you frowned at him as you were momentarily disturbed from your coffee. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes, really; good afternoon to you, too,” he shot back. He unbuckled his bag and began to place books onto the table. “Are you okay with Morgan joining us for today?”

Looking up, you saw the other agent leaning against a bookshelf, holding up a hand in greeting. You smiled at him politely, having heard many, _many_ things about the agent. “Of course. It’s lovely to meet you, Agent Morgan.”

He smiled back at you. “Call me Morgan, please. And the pleasure is all mine; I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, shooting a grin over to Spencer, still hurriedly unloading textbooks onto the table, who looked up and shot a scowl to the other agent. Morgan simply chuckled in response, drawing up a chair beside Spencer and twisting it around before falling into it, rather inelegantly.

You raised an eyebrow at Spencer, who simply shrugged. “He said he was bored, so I let him come.”

Directing your gaze back onto the screen of your laptop, you opened up the essay that had been causing you one too many sleepless nights over the last week. Spencer drew up the chair beside you as you slid over the laptop for him to read. Reaching over to open one of the textbooks, the two of you settled into the familiar rhythm of quiet study and learning.

\---

After around three-quarters of an hour, you were in need of a break. Pushing your laptop back, you stretched your arms above your head, scraping your chair back as your joints cracked and popped. Spencer rolled his eyes at your gestures, having seen them all before. “Keep up like that and you’ll have arthritis before you’re thirty.”

Derek chuckled as you stuck your tongue out at him in response, rolling your head around to ease some of the tension in your neck. “You of all people should know that that myth has been disproven, Mr Eidetic-memory-IQ-of-one-hundred-and-eighty-seven.”

Spencer looked up at you above the rims of his glasses. “Ah, I think you’ll find that’s _Doctor_ Eidetic-memory-IQ-of-one-hundred-and-eighty-seven, to you.”

Scowling at his smug grin, you turned to face Morgan, who had been watching the conversation flow between the two of you with a grin on his face. “He’s just jealous that I’m smarter than him.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“You little shi-"

“Woah, hey now, guys. Don’t forget that we’re still in a public library.” Derek, clearly struggling to hide a smirk, was highly amused at the sight of his normally so uptight colleague arguing – and losing said argument - with a teenager.

Spencer shot a withering look over to the grinning agent. “I never thought I would see the day where _Derek Morgan_ , of all people, lectures me on library etiquette.”

You laughed as you wandered away from the table in search of yet another textbook on criminal psychology, the bickering of the two agents able to be clearly heard for numerous corridors of bookshelves.

After a few minutes, you found your way back to the table, barely able to see where you were putting your feet and almost tripping over the leg of a chair due to the enormous stack of books in your arms. “Hey, a little help here?”

You heard, rather than saw, the raised eyebrow of Derek Morgan. “Damn, kid. You really need all those books with Mr Encyclopaedia right next to you?”

“Again, that’s Doctor Encyclopaedia to you, Morgan.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing in relief when Derek took the pile of books from your arms, depositing them on the table in front of you. “Thank you for helping me, unlike _Doctor_ lazy over there-“

“Ah, who exactly is proofreading your presentation right now? Oh that’s right, _me_ -“

“Alright, alright, you two. You bicker more than anyone I know in the BAU.”

Spencer scoffed at that statement. “Apart from you and me, you mean.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh? I did hear about your, quote, _legendary_ , prank war a few years ago.”

Both profilers chuckled at that.

As the men reminisced, you plonked yourself onto your seat, resting your chin on the table as you closed your eyes, suddenly tired and no longer particularly wanting to study. Allowing your eyes to shut, you decided that a few more minutes of rest would be okay. You let out a long, tired sigh, picking up your head before you fell asleep completely and reaching for the textbook on the top of the pile next to you.

“How about you, [Y/N]?”

You looked at the men blearily, having heard none of the previous conversation. Spencer smiled softly at your confusion. “What are your plans for Christmas, [Y/N]?”

“Oh, um, not a lot. I’ll probably just be in my dorm.”

Derek frowned. “Aren’t you spending it with your family?”

An awkward silence ensued – Spencer had clearly chosen to leave out these details to his co-workers. “It’s my dorm or the foster family.”

“And why not choose your foster family?”

The agent’s voice was soft. You sighed, not expecting to have needed to explain this today. “I was only with them for a few months before I graduated high school and got accepted to college. We… I guess we never really connected that much? Plus there are other kids there, kids that need more help than I do. Not to mention, as soon as I’m 18, I’m, essentially on my own anyway. My scholarship states that I don’t have to move out until after the third semester ends, so…”

You had trailed off, eyes looking down at your fidgeting hands as your cheeks flushed scarlet.

“Reid?”

You heard Spencer sigh softly, looking down at you before turning to the confused agent, explaining in a quiet, sad tone, “[Y/N]’s mother died in a car accident about a year ago, and her older brother committed suicide about a month afterwards.”

“No father?”

“He ran off before she was born.”

Derek sighed, reaching out a hand and resting it on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

You shrugged, still refusing to meet his eye. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not-"

“Morgan,” you heard Spencer warn quietly. “Don’t. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

In an effort to move the conversation along, you opened up the nearest textbook you could find, flicking onto a random page. Unfortunately, something told you that these agents could be as stubborn as you.

“What about friends, [Y/N]? Is there no one who you can spend the day with?”

The heat from your cheeks could surely power the whole city for a week. “I, um, I haven’t got any friends. After the – after the accident, I cut most ties with people from my high school, not that I had many to begin with. I thought that college would be a fresh start, but…”

“But what, kid?”

Derek’s voice was quiet, and kind, and you knew that he wasn’t trying to judge you, but you still took the question to heart. Sighing, you answered, “I haven’t really talked to many people in college yet. My roommate spends most of her time at parties, so I have the dorm to myself most nights.”

This had turned into a full intervention, and by now you were thoroughly uncomfortable. Needing to escape, you slid out from the table, muttering about finding another book.

As you left, you were aware of a hushed conversation taking place between the two agents –

_“Reid, why didn’t you tell any of us about this?”_

_Spencer sighed. “I’ve talked to the school, but it’s like she tells me whenever I bring it up to her – this isn’t grade school anymore, you can’t force twenty-somethings to make friends with a teenager.”_

_“So you’re just gonna let her spend the Christmas holidays alone?”_

_“I was trying to come up with a plan, but-“_

_“Reid, she’s seventeen years old.”_

_“It’s not like I’ve never spent a Christmas alone. With or without my mother.”_

_“You have a chance here to make sure that a girl doesn’t have to spend Christmas alone, and you should damn well take it.”_

_When the doctor didn’t respond, Derek sighed heavily, running his hands over his head. “Reid. We all know how similar she is to you. I can see it after spending an hour with the two of you.”_

_“I don’t know what’s best for her. I have an eidetic memory, I'm not psychic.”_

_“It’s not up to you to know that. But I think you should tell the team. You damn well that JJ and Emily will help her, even Hotch and Rossi will. She means this much to you, then she’s one of us. Let us help, Reid.”_

_“Fine. It’s only because I’m desperate that I’m agreeing.”_

_“You’ve done so much for her, Reid. It’s okay to accept a little help.”_

\---

Five minutes later, you made your way back to the table, not making eye contact with either agent. You knew that it was clear that you had been crying – even without their profiling abilities, your pale face contrasting with your red, raw eyes were enough to tip anyone off.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Looking up at the older agent, you could tell that he saw right through your half-assed smile and attempted nonchalant demeanour.

“You’re not.”

You shrugged, looking down at your textbooks. “And?”

“We can help you.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t need your help-"

“Kid. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you raised your watery eyes to meet the concern and worry within the agent’s. “You’re not gonna spend Christmas alone. I promise you.”

Sensing defeat, you looked round at Spencer, seeing his face lined with worry and that he was close to tears himself.

“Okay.”


End file.
